I Almost Killed My Crush's Mom

Chapter 9:: Doodling and Drooling

Chapter 9// Doodling and Drooling

I may, at the moment, be the happiest I’ve ever been.

Lounged comfortably on Jesse’s bed, I can’t restrain myself from glancing up at the spectacular sight before me from time to time, I mean, how could I not? Every time I sneak a glimpse, my cheeks flush red and my mouth dries out from my opened jaw. I mean, dear lord, how is it possible to be that attractive?  I’m pretending to be doodling on one of Jesse’s notebooks, but in reality I’m having a bit of a drooling session, I won’t lie to you. Jesse is working out, and I can assure you he looks mighty fine from where I’m slouched. Jesse is one of those guys that’s crazy about fitness- swimming, football, soccer, track- you name it and he probably does it. Currently he’s on the treadmill in his room, and I think I’m having palpitations just watching him. Why is the world so cruel?

“What are you drawing?” Jesse asks me, through huffs of effort. I snap out of my thought stream and stare down at my unconscious doodles, horrified to see that I’ve been doodling a cute drawing of a boy giving a girl a piggyback. My cheeks flood red and I tear the page out quickly, “Just some shoes and dresses,” I mutter embarrassedly, “You know me. What time do you think Jennifer will want some lunch?” I glance over at the clock on the wall, trying to change the topic.

“It’s only 11:30 Lois,” Jesse replies dryly, reaching forward to lower the settings on the treadmill. Slowly, slowly the death machine comes to a stop and Jesse hops off, ruffling his hair. “Pass me that towel, will you?” He points at the white towel hanging on the radiator next to me, and I quickly grab it and pass it over to him. I try to avoid eye contact to avoid drooling again, but it’s impossible. He’s stood there, tanned and muscular wearing a black wife beater and sweatpants, with beads of sweat in the line of his hair. I gulp down the awkward lump in my throat, and look away abashedly. Shy, awkward Lois is coming back to play.

“You can use the treadmill if you want,” Jesse suggests gruffly whilst patting his face dry. “You haven’t had much chance to do anything other than look after my mom for a week or two. Have you done any exercise recently?”

Did he say exercise or extra fries? I know which one I’d prefer.

“Yeah maybe,” I laugh awkwardly, “But I only went out for a run the other day.”

Complete and total lie. No reason to clue him in on how horribly unfit I am.

“Do you go to a gym?” Jesse asks me casually, slinging his towel back onto the radiator. As if it’s normal to pay a monthly fee to volunteer extra exercise. I awkwardly shrug in reply to his answer and Jesse frowns, seeming surprised. I guess since he’s friends with all the athletic popular people that it’s unreal to him if someone isn’t as obsessed with their fitness as him. I glance down at my body and cross my arms. I may not do tonnes of exercise but I eat healthily enough, right? I mean, I’m comfortable with how I look, but his judging looks are making me doubt my entire existence.

“What?” I ask defensively, feeling shy and even a little embarrassed.

“Have you never used a treadmill before then?”

I shake my head, “The idea of them really freaks me out. The ground is moving beneath you, but you’re not actually going anywhere. It’s horrible,” I shudder. Jesse is staring at me like I’m some kind of puzzle to figure out, before he subtly turns around and presses a button on the death machine. The mat begins to turn slowly.